#maybe as an artist I'll be some small treasure to a few people. something that they feel they can keep forever even tho it isnt me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yuri-is-online · 7 months

Note

Hi hi, Can you please to prompt 4 with Malleus,Vil, and Riddle?

4. You met someone really wonderful at the Masquerade Ball and have been ranting about how he was totally the love of your life to your abnormally quiet friend. Actually wasn't he invited too? Maybe you should ask him how that went.

Hello hello and of course I can, and I agree with the first ask you sent me. I was not really thinking of Malleus specifically when I wrote that prompt but it really does suit him doesn't it?

Oh also, welcome to the hell site. I noticed you're new from the few asks you sent me (I was so confused as to how a blank blog was talking to me), I hope you have fun with the content on here. New people are always welcome with me, I know all about being shy and uncertain of how to interact with people. I'll answer the other Malleus prompt you sent in after I have done some others, it was my bad for not realizing you were the same person haha.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, full shojo manga lack of self awareness here in Malleus's part (it is implied to take place before the Ch. 6 reveal), just don't think about it is Yuu's middle name. The rest of the requests can be found on my masterlist here.

Malleus

"Tsunotarou, you know a lot about gargoyles, right?" Such a foolish yet welcome question. Truly your unawareness of just who you are conversing with never ceases to amaze and infatuate him.

"Of course, I am something of an expert." He smiles, trying to keep it from showing the whites of his teeth.

"Oh well then you must be very happy to be in Diasomnia." Your eyes are sparkling, and he pauses. Yes he is very happy to be in Diasomnia, but not for the gargoyles. Briar Valley has long respected the legacy of the Thorn Fairy, and what better house could there be for the noblest of nobles than one that's very core is the spirit of nobility? But these are not exactly things he wishes to speak with you about, it would require detailed revelations he fears the consequences of.

"And what makes you think that, child of man?" Still there must be cause for your reasoning, and he does wish to hear it.

"Well your housewarden is one, isn't he?" You seem very pleased with yourself, but your mind is clearly very far away. Malleus stares at you, eyes wide in shock as he attempts to piece together what logic might have drawn you to such a conclusion. "I met him last night." Your dreamy sigh fills him with jealousy, just irrational enough that the thunder crack above you is quite small enough that he can convince you to remain outside of Ramshackle in conversation with him.

"Your mask is really impressive!" Your eyes always shone at the simplest displays of magic, it filled Malleus with a joy he could never quite find his fill of.

"Mask?!" Roars Sebek, his volume matching the pride rapidly feeling Malleus's chest. "Foolish human, this is more than a mere mask! This is a display of my lord's skill! A perfect recreation of old Briar Valley Masquerade tradition! His artistic talent has been woven though magic to bear his true face for the world to see-"

"That's quite enough Sebek." He does enjoy his retainers praise, but he has a task in mind that the over excited boy might- no will definitely endanger if he speaks further.

"But my lord!" Poor Sebek is torn between embarrassment, jelousy, and concern as he watches his precious lord observe you in the same manner one might a particularly expensive jewel.

"They have given me a most treasured compliment and I wish to reward them in turn." He bows, making sure to flourish his hand as he extends it, taking great pleasure in the little shudder that he only sees unaccompanied by fear in you. "May I have this dance, prefect?"

"Y-yes. You may." You seem in a daze as he takes you to the floor, just as unaware of the others around you as he is. It's wonderful, no matter how many times he visits you he has never had such a good excuse to hold you as this. Your scent, the weight of you in his arms, the way he can better familiarize himself with the subtle movements of your face is all much more real and overwhelming than he had ever imagined it being. It's all Lilia can do to drag him away, whispering teasing things about impropriety and duty to soothe the storm at his fingertips as he sees your friends scoop you up where he left off.

"He is a very handsome gargoyle. And so polite! But then I guess he is royalty so that makes sense..." The continued thunder has you inviting him in, mentioning something about tea he really can't be bothered to think about.

"No he isn't." Malleus pouts. "The nobility of Briar Valley has a reputation for being extremely dour and irrational."

"Oh. Well no wonder he seemed so happy I danced with him. Poor fellow must be very lonely." Oh if only you knew.

"Enough about my housewarden." Malleus declares without a hint of irony, bowing in a familiar fashion to prevent you from entering your kitchen. "He isn't the one you are talking to now is he? He isn't the one who you will be thinking about when you dream tonight." In a slight daze you take his hand, the living room fills with green fireflies as the storm outside slows to a halt as kinder, not softer emotions fill the young lord's heart. "He isn't the one your last dance is for, so focus on me, won't you?"

Vil

"This is why I told you to make sure whatever costume Crewel gave you came with a coat." Vil is beyond angry, with you certainly, but mostly at- life? The fact humans have an immune system that doesn't always work? You have no clue and your head is much too stuffed up to care. What you do care about is that Vil is here, and he really shouldn't be. Colds are contagious and Vil has so many things that he should be doing other than fussing over someone who is not in his dorm and not his responsibility.

"You could get sick." You say and he laughs, if you could see him, if he was not sat behind you on a bed in one of Pomefiore's empty rooms, you know the look he would have on his face. You would see his stupidly beautiful smug smile he has when he has something particularly cutting to say; instead you have to close your eyes and picture it as he pats your head dry just a bit more forcefully.

"Not my responsibility you say? You certainly seem to have a funny view of this." Vil has a word on the tip of his tongue. A word that's ambiguous, a word that would make his manager have a fit. If only she had been a fly on the wall during the Masquerade last night.

"My my, you seem a bit out of place." The tall stranger must be confused at your staring, but he seems more amused than offended. "Does my costume enchant you that much?"

"It reminded me of something." It would hard enough to explain to a friend what you are thinking of, harder still to a stranger. The scarlet costume could have been taken from a playbill, you find yourself looking him over for any sign of a folio. You highly doubt it's you the Red Death wants to capture tonight, but you cannot say you will protest too loudly if that's what he decides. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"Quite the opposite," the stranger does not ask you to dance, merely extends his hand and gracefully leads you off to the side when you take it, "so long as you praise me out loud you can look as long as you like."

"It's not like you got me sick." You sneeze into your tissue and Vil frowns, satisfied with your care but not with your answer. He had his suspicions that you may have made a... mistake in your assessment of your time at the Masquerade. But it did hurt him slightly to think that you did not know his essence well enough to have recognized him at once. "And I did get a costume with a cloak, I just gave it to the Red Death because it was too weird to see him without it."

"Mhmm I don't know." you say. It's such a shame Vil can only see your lips, he loves it when you tease him so much already it isn't fair he has to focus on something so tauntingly close and yet so far out of reach. "I think your costume is incomplete."

"Oh?" Vil makes sure to hold you close to him as the song ends, daring anyone to come close enough to try and steal your attention so he can laugh at the attempt. "What's your reasoning for that? Depending on what you have to say, I just might agree." You back out of his arms and make a frame with your fingers. "Kiss me." He begs silently. "Kiss me and leave a mark." But instead you unwind your cloak and fix it to his shoulder.

"Perfect. Now you really look like the portrait." And to his great despair you are gone.

Despite your earlier stated worries, you fall back into Vil's chest, tilting your back to look up at him. "When I'm not sick remind me to tell you about the Phantom of the Opera? I wanted to spend more time dancing with him, but I was feeling too much at home and got scared he'd vanish." Vil's eyes shine with a strangely familiar light, and he gently guides you under the bed's covers. Just before he leaves he kisses your forehead so gently it's all you can do not to cry.

"I think your phantom might be closer than you think." He murmurs against your skin and leaves you to sleep, tucking you under a mysteriously familiar red cloak as soon as your eyes are well and truly closed.

Riddle

"You will be too tired to do anything after the ball, so make sure to shower and go directly to bed."

It was good advice based off of a reasonable assumption, and technically you were not in fact physically doing anything. You were also quite tired, you had expected to spend most of the ball on the outskirts observing the display of feathers and paints but that was far from what actually happened. You don't think you had ever danced in your life as much as you had in the past six hours. It would be extremely reasonable to assume that after scrubbing yourself free of makeup and sweat you would be down for the count.

But you weren't. Your mind was running a mile a minute, eyes constantly glancing at your phone on your nightstand. It's an odd feeling, wanting to call someone and not being able to. It is also a feeling you have become deeply familiar with, the ache it produces might as well be permanently woven into your heart, you should be immune to the pain at this point.

This time though, this time the person you want to call could theoretically be within reach. This person was someone you could touch, someone you could hold, someone whose touch still lingered against your hands.

The little knight was just as awkward as you were, if he didn't immediately stutter out a protest you would have thought he was just as inexperienced with the whole formal party thing as you were.

"I know what I'm doing I just-"

"Then can you show me how to dance? I've been practicing but I'm not great at it." He stares at you, and you are worried you said something wrong until he laughs, it sounds smug you think but you can't be sure.

"That's the proper way to ask for a dance." He takes your hand in his as he bows, kissing it so gently you half think it was your imagination. "This is."

You pick up your phone before it buzzes, immediately sitting up in shock when you see just who is messaging you at 3:30 am on a Friday.

[Riddle] Are you still awake prefect?

[Yuu] Ace is that you.

[Yuu] I'm not covering for you if Riddle finds out you took his phone again (¬_¬)

[Riddle] What do you mean again?

The little knight's dance is stiff at first, but he relaxes as you continue. He has been guiding you to the center of the room, you belatedly realize. You must have looked frightened once you did. "It would be rude to stay in the corner during the slower songs." He squeezes your hand to bring your attention back to him. "It isn't against the rules to be bad at dancing, but it is to monopolize other people's space."

"Aren't you doing that right now?" You tease and he stops leading you, almost as if he hadn't even considered that.

"Are you not enjoying yourself?" He almost sounds afraid and you find yourself having to take over the direction of your movements.

"I didn't say that." Your knight almost seems to grow ten feet tall at your praise before he becomes aware of himself again and gets a bit bashful. But he does not take over again, content to let you set the pace of your dancing for the rest of the night.

[Riddle] Actually disregard that. Since you are awake, would you mind coming to your window? I understand throwing rocks is considered romantic but breaking a window would be most unfitting behavior for a housewarden.

You are tempted to tell him you are waiting for a message from someone else, but the unusual behavior has you at your window before you can even full form the thought. You almost drop your phone at the sight you see below you.

Riddle expected to have difficulty making eye contact with you. He expected to be teased about his failure to follow his own good advice, his costume has got to be a mess between the dancing he did with you earlier and the pacing he did once he got back to Heartslabyul.

But neither of those happen. Neither matters, instead you see him and the familiar scrap of paper you had given him with your number and a heart and fly down the Ramshackle steps into his outstretched arms.

"I'm so glad it was you I danced with tonight."

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #500 followers celebration #malleus is just delulu enough to be jealous of himself and you cannot convince me otherwise #also i understand that malleus and vil's voice actors were actually in a production of phantom together before being in twst #as the phantom and Raoul respectively? or did i hallucinate that #anyway i just think vil suits the phantom role and will be making more references to that in the future

306 notes · View notes

hopeamarsu · 2 years

Text

Starthief

The Thief, Isabella Barocci (OFC), minor background characters

Word count 10k

Rating Teen

Warnings Historical AU, historical inaccuracies, crime, thievery, poorly translated Italian, an attempt at describing a break-in was made, written in first person (Thief POV)

A/N: So, I have a little story to tell before we get into the actual story itself.

This story is a mix between original fiction and fanfiction since while I did use The Thief as inspiration, I made him a whole different historical character. Why you might ask.

Well, it all began in our company Slack, where a colleague of mine challenged us to compete in a company-wide NaNoWriMo style writing challenge. 7 days, 10 000 words, easy peasy.

To help us out in our mission, he'd compiled a list of genres, character suggestions, and places where our story would happen. And since I couldn't get that Writer Wednesday Venice pic out of my head, the story started forming once I saw Venice was one of the options. Thank you for @writer-wednesday for the extra inspiration!

My pick ended up being a historical figure doing crime things in Venice.

A few small disclaimers before we get into the story itself.

I do not speak Italian. Not at all. Well, I did practice it for about a year with Duolingo but I think I can confidently say that the elephant is indeed scared of the mouse in Italian now. So if you see any inaccuracies or broken spelling, please let me know and I'll fix it right away.

Yes, Francesco Casanova was a real artist. No, he's not THE Casanova, though he is his brother. Yes, he lived with the Grimani family when he was young but most of what you read here is from my imagination.

Yes, Palazzo Barocci is a real place and yes, it has been there since the 18th century. No, I don't know if there was a Barocci family who lived there, but I can only wish. Also, the theater and the opera are real things. I think that's where the real-life references end with this one.

I hope you enjoy!

The history books will know me as a Casanova, but I’ve gone through so many names in my life, that it’s hard to keep up. My brothers Giacomo and Giovanni might be more famous than I am, but I am established in other ways. I am an artist like them and my paintings are something tangible I leave behind for future generations.

My real legacy though? That’s something I only tell you here.

My name is Francesco Giuseppe Casanova, but you might know me as Il Ladro, the Thief. Or maybe another name, one I will yet not reveal. I’ll explain later why that is.

My family moved from London to Venice in the 1730s, after the demise of my father, and I began taking an interest in all things shiny. Baubles, cutlery, little trinkets someone left behind, I collected them all.

It was easy, living with the Grimani family; people were always coming and going and nobody paid any attention if something got lost or misplaced and that was when I swooped in. Being scrawny as a child allowed me the possibility to slip into tight spots and lift even more things for my own amusement. Because it was never about the value of the object, more about the thrill of the actual act.

My room had a dedicated little box where I placed all the treasures and hoarded them like a dragon found in one of Mama’s books. I was always switching the shelf the box was in and in some cases I even placed it under my bed at night. Early onset paranoia one might say. I was terrified someone would find them and blame and punishment would rain down on me like a thunderstorm. It never did but I was always very careful.

I continued with my habit as I apprenticed with several artists, where I learned to drink with the best of them and bedded women as my brother had taught me. A fine comb there, a little stack of coins here, and maybe a heart or two as I left the bedrooms of the women in the early morning hours like a thief in the night. As I grew older and bolder, the trinkets changed into something more expensive. The thrill of smaller items no longer existed.

I needed more challenges. More danger. More reward. And then eventually I wanted to take things further and actually commit a theft. A true crime, not just petty things.

The Palazzo Barocci was the perfect target.

It was owned by a prominent Venetian family and I’d heard and seen the ladies of the house carry jewelry around their necks worth millions. The house itself was rumored to have artifacts from foreign lands and days past and my hands and fingers just itched at the idea of taking a few of them from the Barocci family.

This is where my story really starts and where I got my nickname.

“Ciao, Francesco!” My friend Antonio greeted me as I stepped inside the small osteria. It was rowdy as always, people dancing on tables and drinking their weight in wine, but I was not here to indulge tonight. No, my mission was for something else.

Antonio was beautiful in that Roman way, with a long nose and thick eyebrows that framed his eyes with lashes so long he was rumored to have inherited them straight from the gods. He was the envy of many maidens but so shy, that he could hardly speak to them. I would have loved to sketch him one day, maybe have him pose in a series of works but even suggesting it to him would’ve had him bolting. So I admired him from afar and laughed silently into my hands when he tried to pick up women who in turn only wanted tips on how to get lashes such as he possessed.

“Buonasera, Antonio. Tell me, is the wine here worthy of being poured down our throats?” I grinned at him, sitting down on the vacant stool and placing my hands on the table. As an answer, he picked up the pitcher and poured two goblets to the brim. The red liquid sloshed over a little when Antonio picked up one of the goblets and transferred it in front of me.

He picked up the other and tipped it in my direction, before bringing the metal to his lips and drinking greedily. I followed his lead, tasting the ripe grapes as the wine trickled down my throat.

“Delicious!” Antonio exclaimed and winked. “It should be, papa made it.”

His confession that the wine came from his family vineyard made me laugh. My head was thrown back as I roared loudly.

“Never change, Antonio, dear friend. Never change.” I shook my head in delight after the laughter died down. He winked again, those lashes fluttering like a peacock ruffling its feathers and I had the sudden image of him draped only in feathers in my mind. My hand itched for a block of charcoal to sketch the image before it disappeared but when his face dropped to seriousness, I abandoned the thought immediately. Business time had arrived.

He leaned closer, casting furtive glances around the osteria before speaking lowly. “I have an opportunity for you.”

“For the Palazzo?” My eyebrows rose slightly. This fast? I knew Antonio had connections, like most of us in the city, but he must have been excellent to be able to pull this off.

I hadn’t told him the true reason I wanted inside the Palazzo and he must’ve assumed a reason far too ordinary because he continued softly. “Conte Barocci is having artists come to interview for a chance to paint the family portrait. I can get you on that list if you’d like.” He cast another glance around the room before his voice turned a bit mischievous. “If it’s her you wish to seek out, it’s your best chance to do so.”

Her, meaning Isabella Barocci, Conte Barocci’s only daughter and the diamond of his collection. She was one of the most sought-after women in Venice, possibly even the entire Italy. Her beauty was the story of mysteries, and people lined up to see even a glimpse of her when she passed by in her private gondola.

Gorgeous black hair that seemed to go on for miles, gathered on intricate braids that made a crown over her head with skin clear and smooth like the finest wine Antonio’s family could produce. Her eyes were said to be the color of golden topaz’s but a few had had the pleasure of seeing them up close. But those who had seen them swore they sparkled like the shiniest stones in the land and I was inclined to believe that rumor. She was that gorgeous.

Her lips were the talk of the town, people whispering how she dunked them in milk every night to keep them as smooth as possible. It sounded ridiculous but I’d seen some weird things ladies did to keep their beauty in my years bedding them so I wouldn’t count that out as a mere rumor. If peasant ladies knew the tricks, surely the aristocracy utilized them also. After all, no one wanted to be out-shadowed by another in the lavish balls the upper class frequently took part in.

I let Antonio think it was her I was after. It would work in my favor. And maybe I was, the idea of having a dalliance with the Silver Maiden of Venice was appealing after all. But not as appealing as taking some of the jewels she carried on her body for my own enjoyment. I nodded to my friend and grinned wide.

“Do it.”

Antonio nodded, lifting his glass towards mine to clink it to seal the deal.

Three days later I was dressed in my finest, standing in front of the huge doors that would let me into the Palazzo inner grounds.

I’d given my name to the servant and he was delivering it upstairs. I was in no hurry, happily spending the time alone sketching the gate in detail. I would burn that piece of paper later, already lamenting on the loss of good parchment, but I would need the details later should I use this entrance for my purposes later. I was so absorbed in the iron details that I didn’t hear the servant had returned. I almost jumped when he spoke.

“Please follow me,” The servant announced, not at all worried about the fact that he’d seen me drawing the gate. Maybe it was a common occurrence, but I hid the parchment quickly and nodded. Best not to give him any ideas.

He led me across the courtyard and rose bushes to the small patio set up overlooking the canal moving slowly below us. A tall, dark-haired man was waiting there, a small table overflowing with fresh grapes and a pitcher of wine set up next to him.

“Buongiorno, signore,” I tipped my head, unsure of how to address the older man once we came to a halt with the servant. The small man slipped behind the table and began pouring down the wine for us and the man gestured at one of the chairs. I should sit and I did. Gently I placed my papers on the free space and waited.

“My name is Conte Barocci.” I tipped my head again in recognition. He had a deep voice, something that commanded attention from everyone in the room, and being outside in the fresh air was not an exception.

“Signore, I am looking for il artiste who will bring my family to life on a canvas. I’ve understood you come highly recommended by Giuseppe Venardi and his recommendations in wine have never failed me.”

“You flatter me, signore.”

“We will see. If I would be to hire you for this job, what are your rates?”

A businessman was always a businessman and I smothered a grin at that. For the next 45 minutes, we went over rates, his schedule for the painting, and everything in between. He had surprisingly good knowledge of art and in different circumstances, I would’ve loved to have talked to him longer.

“Have you any questions for me?” Conte finally asked me, after grilling me for my preference over horse hair brushes versus the new ones that used rabbit hair. I pondered a moment, taking in the vast outdoors and braving the next step in my plan.

“Where would you like this painting to be painted? I have a small studio, but it’s across the town and might not work for your purposes, Conte Barocci.” I hoped a little flattery would help my case and I laid it on thick. “Your palazzo is incredible. Would you be willing to lend me a room here to conduct my business? I believe having the palazzo immortalized with you would provide the perfect backdrop.”

The count pondered my request for a moment before nodding. “Very well, signore. I shall show you the library we are currently not using. We could use that room should you be the one to hired for the job.”

We left the first servant to clear after us and another quickly joined us, the Conte instructing him to show me to the east wing of the palazzo to see the space. With a final nod in my direction, he left me with the servant.

“This way, signore,” The second servant had a melodic voice, but his Italian wasn’t as smooth as a native Venetian.

My eyebrow raised a little, curious as to where Conte had found himself servants from outside Venice, but it wasn’t my place to ask. People came here from countries I’d never heard of before in search of l'amore the city held within its watery depths. Some succeeded, others failed. At least the Conte was respected amongst his peers and lower classes and people didn’t have any whispers of ill-doings in his house. Getting a job here must’ve been a dream.

”The library is just through these doors, signore. Il Conte has indicated to you that you have free reign in this space. Please ring the bell once you are done and someone will escort you out.” With a final nod, the servant left me alone in front of massive wooden doors. Giddy with excitement, I pushed them open.

This was too easy so far. I would have no trouble coming back at night to steal some valuables. All because people were far too trusting of rogues like me.

Venice at night time was beautiful. Oil lamps illuminated the canals in soft, orange light and the water gave back sparkles to light one's way. It rivaled the stars in the sky and walking between the two magnificent displays of nature’s finest felt like dancing on air. I loved taking the back alleys, even if they stank, just for this reason.

It had been a few days since I had visited the Palazzo, but I was not yet worried about not having heard back. I knew from Antonio that several artists were scheduled to visit the palazzo and interview for the painting. And with the annual Carnival preparations in full swing, it might even get delayed further. But that was fine with me, I had what I’d come to look for there.

I had the layout of the palazzo and I had my drawing on how to get in through the iron gate. It was similar to the iron that lined the bank I was currently walking by and I knew that metal. I’d worked with that metal many times before so I knew how to bend it to fit my needs. That was the easy part, getting in.

But the problem lay in what I would eventually carry out of the place and where. I’d snooped a little, but none of the rooms beside the library held anything of value. No paintings, no artifacts, nothing that could be considered worth anything. It made sense, the east side of the palazzo was under renovation after all but having to go to the west side would mean getting too close to comfort where the family slept.

All my previous thefts had been on a smaller scale, with little things I could knick during a party or a gathering. It didn’t matter if anyone saw me, I could talk my way out of a lot of things. I’d gotten lost, I’d banged the maid, I was drunk out of my mind, whatever came to mind. But this would require me to actually break in and be in a place where I didn’t have a backup plan to fall on. Having the family sleep in the same wing I was sneaking around in could be an issue.

But the added risk of it all didn’t slow me down. In fact, my blood pumped in my ears as I drew in excited breaths over the idea of actually pulling this off while they slept soundlessly in rooms right there next to me. It was a high I’d never experienced before and just the bare taste I’d gotten over the idea had me hooked. I needed this more than I needed my bread and cheese in the morning.

I just needed to figure out what I was looking for.

I sat down at one of the banks, dangling my feet over the darkened water as I pondered what to steal.

Paintings were big and hard to conceal so those were out. Trinkets like goblets and cutlery didn’t pose enough of a challenge for me. The count had the money for certain, but if he was anything like the greedy Venetians occupying this city, he would trust banks instead of keeping all his gold coins at home.

That left jewelry and I knew instantly the piece I would look for.

The Silver Maiden of Venice had a statement piece she wore more often than the others. There was a name for it surely, but I only knew it from one time I’d been lucky enough to see it in person. Seven diamond stars hung on a silver chain that looped over and under them as it rested on her bosom. That was what I wanted, I knew it the second the image of it resting on her bosom sprang to mind.

I needed it.

I craved it.

I desired it.

I had to have it.

Was it madness to want something like that so badly? Likely so, but my mind was made up. Go big or don’t go at all, I reminded myself. I’d wanted a bigger challenge and this was as big as it was going to get.

“Francesco, you mad man,” I mumbled to myself as I kicked my feet up and down, letting my thoughts wander. “If you won’t get quartered for this, you can conquer the world.” My mind made up, I lifted my body off the stones and began walking towards a nearby osteria. “Celebratory drinks for one, barmaid,” I mumbled to myself as I reached the door.

I had my plan. What to steal, where to steal it from, and how to get in. Now I needed to find out when to do it and how to get to safety. Mind made up, I stepped inside the bubbling osteria and let myself get swept away by the drinkers and dancers.

I knew I could use the Carnival to my advantage and so I began planning my theft for the same night as the opening night opera. It would allow me the best opportunity to slip into the darkness with the crowd being outside, filling the narrow pathways and partying until the sun rose again. It would also mean the palazzo had the least amount of people inside, so running into someone there would not be so probable.

I spent the next few evenings walking through different routes to see the best one I would take, but I kept close attention to how close I was to the palazzo at all times. I didn’t want to get too close so the servants would notice me loitering around. Sticking to the shadows the tall buildings and few oil lamps provided me, I staked the place out and learned the ins and outs of the place.

I also began questioning myself during one of these walks. Was I really going to go through with this? What would I do with the necklace once I had it? If I even found it? The palazzo was huge, what if I got lost and someone found me? Would I have to flee Venice, I city I’d only recently begun to think of as my home? Was this what I truly wanted?

I didn’t have any answers for myself and I couldn’t confide in anyone either. Antonio was my closest friend in the city, but telling even him would be dangerous beyond anything. Him knowing about my plan would also put him in danger if the officials caught wind of my theft. His family was already involved involuntarily with the arranged meeting, though that could be explained away. I didn’t want him any closer than that. He’d been so good to me throughout our entire friendship, I needed him safe and unaware.

I’d been avoiding him for just those reasons, but it seemed like fate had other plans. As I rounded a corner, trying to find a quiet side street with a small bank so I could think more, I almost bumped right into his lap.

“Antonio! Attento!” I exclaimed, my foot slipping. Two small rocks dropped down into the murky water as I tried to find my balance. Slim fingers wrapped around my bicep, pulling me upright and into Antonio’s chest. For a slim, dainty man, he was pretty strong.

“Are you alright?” He let go of my arm when he deemed I was standing comfortably on two legs again. “Too much wine in the osteria, si?”

“Maybe a little,” I brushed off my arms, grinning and trying to adopt a slightly drunken expression to sell my story. “Felt like celebrating, mio amico, and I might’ve indulged slightly. Your family makes dangerous wine.” I winked, my teeth on full display, and Antonio chuckled.

“The new grapes are proving to be potent, yes. But tell me, what are you celebrating? I’d love to join you!”

“La Vita! The Carnival is just around the corner and I feel good. I’ve got a commission done and coins in my pocket, what’s there not to celebrate?” It wasn’t a total lie, I did finish a commission piece and had gotten paid a good amount for it, but it was a little time ago. But what was a little white lie between friends?

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’d wondered where you’d scurried off, but I didn’t want to disturb you. I’m glad you are getting the recognition you deserve, Francesco Casanova. Speaking of commissions, did you receive any news about the Barocci’s yet?”

I shook my head and looked out to the river, trying to think what to say. The more I wanted to steal the necklace, the less I wanted the painting commission. Even if my pockets would be lined for months to come I felt hesitant about accepting the commission should it be offered to me. It was an added risk and I had to play this safe if I wanted to pull the heist off.

“No word yet. But it will come, don’t you worry Antonio.” I flashed a smile, wide and slightly exaggerated to emphasize my supposed jovial condition. “I have plans, don’t you worry.”

He held out his arms in joy and giggled loudly, before nodding vigorously. Antonio threw his arm around my shoulder, planting a wet kiss on my forehead. “Come, let’s taste some more wines and you can tell me all about celebrating life.” I nodded happily, glad to be away from my growing anxiety over what mess I was about to make soon. When he guided me toward a group of women, I knew I was in for a night of fun and I wanted it more than I had realized.

The opening night at the Opera during Carnival was always a pleasurable evening. The highly coveted spot of opening venue had gone to Teatro Goldoni and they had pulled out all the stops, using La Favola d'Orfeo as their play of choice. It was a crowd favorite, though not mine. So it didn’t matter much that I missed it.

I was standing in the shadows near the Palazzo Barocci, dressed entirely in black to disguise myself further, watching as footmen helped all three ladies dressed in gold and silver, and silk descend down the steps of the palazzo.

The Silver Maiden looked beautiful in the evening light and something stirred in my chest as I watched her thank the footman kindly. She truly was as beautiful as everyone said she was. Her hands were bare as they touched the man - a rarity and something that would get the town talking surely - but I liked that she went against the grain on this one. Her hands were elegant even from a distance and I knew I would love to draw them in intimate detail if possible.

I let out a relieved breath when she turned and I could gaze at her neck. As luck would have it, she wasn’t wearing the piece I wanted. I was still going through with this then tonight. Point one for the Thief.

Conte Barocci was the last to arrive at the carriage and I watched him like a hawk, trying to discern anything from his body that he knew something was going to go down after they’d left. But he seemed happy and carefree. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding in.

The carriage left to join the others cruising down the road. They were all headed to the larger harbor where big boats would take all of the aristocracies towards the Teatro and I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long now. An hour, tops, for most of the servants to leave the premises, leaving only the skeleton staff in place.

I moved with the shadows, watching and waiting as one by one, the servant's door opened and closed and people left the building. When the clock struck eleven, I abandoned my spot and began to walk toward the locked gate. I could feel sweat trickle down my spine and I swear there were several eyes in the back of my head when I drew near. I refused to look around in a panic, it would only highlight I was up to no good.

Act I, be ready Francesco, I told myself sternly before tripping over and leaning on the gate. I’d doused my coat draped over my shoulders in cheap wine to sell the illusion of my drunkenness to a random passerby even if it made my nose wrinkle. In reality, I hadn’t touched a drop of wine in the past day, wanting to keep all my wits with me.

Leaning deeper into the bars, I let the coat shield my efforts as my fingers worked with the lock. I had two small iron bars with me along with a small skeleton key I’d swiped off a locksmith years ago after he’d told me how to use it. It wasn’t a perfect match for this gate, but with the additional bars, I wasn’t too worried.

A little left, I pressed one bar after inserting the key. Listening for the softest of clicks and once I heard it, I inserted the second bar under the key and wiggled it around. A second soft click and suddenly I heard a louder creak and groan as the gate opened slightly. Barely containing my surprised and elated yell, I slipped between the two massive parts and pressed the gate closed behind me. I would not use this route to exit, so I had to make it look like nothing was amiss.

I crept through the front garden, my eyes and ears peeled for any shouting. None came and when I reached the small door with several glass sections down the east side of the building, I couldn’t help but give myself a little pat on the back. I’d not worked a lot with glass before, but I knew how to manipulate things. I placed my hand on the glass closest to the handle of the door and began pushing it back and forth, hoping to wiggle it out of the slot.

It seemed to take ages and I grew nervous as I wiggled and wiggled. Would someone pick up what I was doing here? I chanced a look around me but all I could see was darkness and silent flowers. Sighing, I returned to my task.

“Yes!” I let out a small sound when finally the glass gave in and fell into my waiting hands. Taking great care of it, I slipped my hand in the hole it had created and fumbled for the key still in the lock, unlocking the door. Quickly, I went inside and closed the door, securing the glass back in its place. I let out a big sigh at finally being covered from outside view, letting my shoulders roll around to lose some of their tension.

I took a look around the room where I was in. It was empty, with white sheets drawn over the couches and tables. Large shadows cast from the multiple windows scattered all over the room, the moon creating a pathway in the middle of the room with its silvery glow. It might be some sort of a morning or sunroom then, but not in use during the renovations. It was unlikely there was anything but dusty furniture here.

I made my way across the room and into the hallway. It was dark, like the rest of the palazzo. I suspected the staff was already asleep somewhere in their quarters which most likely were near the kitchens. Far away from where I was. Still, I kept my back to the wall at all times until I made my way to the foyer.

I took a moment to admire the intricate details laid out in the foyer; all the gold glittering in the moonlight. I wanted a moment and all the art and gold around me kept me entertained and distracted.

There was a huge painting on the ceiling, half-naked cherubs dancing on clouds, and playing instruments. The pastel colors reminded me of a painter I’d studied previously but couldn’t place him at that moment. He had beautiful strokes though and in another life, I would love to have laid down on the marble floor and just stare up at the painting for ages. Casting a final longing look at it, I took up the stairs towards the west side of the palazzo.

The second floor of the west side was much more opulent than its pair on the east side. There were huge oil paintings lining the walls and rich, dark carpets on the floor, surrounded by plush mahogany chairs. Dark wooden doors greeted me from both sides and the enormity of my task dawned on me. I would have to be quick like a small animal in my search for the right room.

Somewhere a clock chimed, telling me I’d already spent an hour here and a cold sweat broke the surface of my skin again. I needed to hurry, the opera would end eventually and people would return here. Disregarding my earlier plan of being stealthy, I began opening the doors and peeking inside. I didn’t even go inside, just peeked in and tried to find rooms that looked like they belonged to a young woman.

The whole second floor was a bust, but when I arrived on the third floor, something floral hit my nose almost immediately and I knew I was close. The scent of jasmine perfume was stronger the more I crept deeper into the hallway and I stopped in front of a door that had the strongest smell. This had to be it, jasmine was the scent of a young lady (and I had already seen the room of the Mistress of the House one floor below, right opposite from the room belonging to the Master of the House. How people wanted to sleep apart never made any sense to me).

I stepped inside the room, letting my eyes get used to the dim moonlight casting its mark on the floors and the huge bed that dominated the space. Fluffed-up pillows, a huge comforter, and four posters with curtains hanging off them completed the look. A bed fit for a King. Or in this case, the legend that was the Silver Maiden. There was a fleeting sense of wanting to flop down on that bed to feel just how comfortable it was but I pushed it aside, moving across the room towards the vanity.

“Tsk, tsk, how careless,” I murmured, seeing all the pieces of jewelry laid out. The maid had obviously not been here to clean yet. All the beautiful pieces of gold, silver, copper, diamonds, and other stones were just sitting there, waiting to be collected.

And there it was, the crown jewel of the collection.

Seven stars, made out of pearls and clear diamonds, all dangling neatly from a thick silver chain. It was thicker in person, but judging by the weight of the entire thing, a daintier one wouldn’t have been enough. I studied the necklace in detail, taking in the intricate filaments and the way the diamonds had been inserted into their slots all the way to the locking mechanism. It truly was a piece of excellent smithing work.

I took out a worn cloth, wrapping the necklace in its warm embrace before dropping it in a small satchel made out of velvet. The satchel went to my belt, hidden by the wine-stained jacket and I took a final glance around the room. When nothing stood out, I slipped out of the room and back into the hallway.

Time to exit the scene of the crime.

I hurried downstairs, my feet dancing on the floorboards as I rushed forward. In the foyer, I glanced longingly again at the painting on the ceiling, before slipping into the east wing corridor.

Cling, cling, cling, went a huge bell somewhere in the palazzo and I knew instantly what that meant.

The family was returning.

I needed to hurry.

With my heart in my throat, I slipped outside of the morning room and hid behind some bushes near the gate. I could see the carriage pull up to the gate moments later. I stood there, hidden by the greenery but one wrong move would put me right on display. My throat closed up and I was certain I stopped breathing.

First came the Contessa, draped in fine silk and satin and fur to battle the crisp air. Then out came Conte, holding out a purse which might’ve looked ridiculous on anyone else but the obvious love he had for his wife shined through even from a distance. Seeing him carrying her purse just made sense.

Finally out came their beautiful daughter, looking divine under the moon and stars.

I’d always loved the female figure, but hers was exquisite. Her dress, made out of material that looked to be light as air, flowed around her and gave her that figure all women of stature desired. Long legs, trim waist, ample bosom.

She was the picture of Roman beauty standards and I knew women would cinch their waists and put themselves through hell to achieve this look. On her, it looked effortless to achieve. She looked like she was born into this beauty and carried it with that knowledge in hand.

She held out a hand for the footman helping her inside the gate and I noticed still didn’t have on her gloves which I applauded her for. She’d even taken out the customary masquerade mask hiding her face. I wish I could see her closely, but even from my lowly shadows, she looked beautiful beyond anything I’d seen before.

Her head moved and suddenly I felt frozen like a salt statue. The topaz eyes were looking directly at me, almost like they could see my soul. Her head cocked to the side in contemplation and my body began to tremble with fear.

She had seen me. Did she see well enough into the shadows to know me, recognize who I really was?

I waited with bated breath for my judgment but just as fast as she had pinned me down, her eyes moved away from mine and she answered her father, taking his offered elbow to be escorted to the house. In silence, my body still reeling from that brief encounter, I waited until all three of them and the staff had disappeared inside the house before slipping away into the night.

The satchel weighed heavily on my side as I took one of my rehearsed routes home. I couldn’t even rejoice in the fact that I had done it, I had completed the job because I didn’t know if I’d actually been caught while doing it. Her gaze weighed heavily on me, like a milling stone around my neck.

That put a damper on everything good I had running around in my brain after a successful heist.

The next few days were a nightmare.

I barely slept, could hardly keep anything down my belly and I had never felt paranoia at this level. Every corner I turned, every dark shadow I passed I was sure someone would jump and grab me. The soldiers I encountered in passing made my throat close up and vision swim in my eyes as I was sure they were there with an order for an arrest. I didn’t even dare to visit the market for fear of someone slipping a knife between my ribs in the chaos. Calling for Antonio was also out, I wanted him clear away from my murky situation.

I kept checking the satchel almost religiously, making sure it was still there where I’d placed it before moving it to another safe location. It was getting ridiculous, I couldn’t even enjoy the fruits of my labor! I couldn’t paint, I couldn’t draw, and my entire life was focused on that stupid necklace.

I should return it.

A week later, after yet another sleepless night, the thought occurred to me. I’d tossed and turned, listening to the river boats floating by in the canal from my open windows but as the moon gave way to the sun, I knew sleep would be non-existent yet again. And then the thought popped up for me and suddenly it was like the angels in heaven were singing my name.

I would just return the necklace (after maybe drafting it for my own personal collection and memory) and none would the wiser. I couldn’t get blamed for a theft that never happened, right? With that in mind, I began to think of the logistics.

How could I actually return the necklace and where? It needed to be someplace where I could see it get picked up, so I would know it was safe and returned. Breaking back in was too risky to pull off, there wasn’t a time I could plan for all the contingencies a feat such as that would require.

I couldn’t blame it on the staff either, that would be vile and I couldn’t live with myself if an innocent person would get blamed on my account. So it had to be returned and I had to be the one to do it somehow.

With newfound determination, I swung my naked legs off the bed and began gathering my clothes from where I’d dropped them last night. I pulled on my black breeches and red socks and threw on my linen shirt, forgoing the waistcoat. An artist was allowed some liberties with the fashion thankfully and I could pull off this half-dressed looked many men sported in private.

I’d just made my way toward my easels when a heavy knock pounded from the door to my studio, which I used both for living and painting. Nervous energy surrounded me and I gulped, before walking to the door. “Si?” I asked, hoping that my short sentence meant they couldn’t hear the tremor in my voice.

“I come bearing a letter for one Artist Francesco Casanova, from Il Conte Barocci. It’s of the utmost importance I give it straight to him.”

I pulled the door open slightly, peeking out from behind it to see a young boy, no more than 13 summers old, wearing a faded black biretta on his head on top of golden curls. He held out a large envelope towards me and when I took it, he took off running again, before I could even hand him coins. Maybe the Conte had paid him handsomely and he didn’t need any extra. Or maybe he knew more than I did and wanted to escape. The thought made the fear rise in my chest again.

I twirled the envelope in my hands before breaking the intricate wax seal. I fished out a thick letter with a gulp and I opened the paper up with shaking hands.

“Signore Casanova,

I regret to inform you that we have not selected you as the artist to complete our family portrait. But, my daughter has seen some of your work and would like to commission a small piece to fit her own room if you are available for work of this kind.

If you are agreeable to such endeavor, please join us for a light luncheon at Palazzo Barocci today.”

The letter was signed by the Conte and I felt the dual rush of excitement and nervousness flood my body. It was a shame I’d lost out on the huge portrait opportunity, something that surely would’ve lifted me higher within the artist hierarchy, but at the same time, the opportunity to create something for the family and especially for the Silver Maiden called to me.

The luncheon would also be my salvation. I was invited, I had a way in and I could slip the necklace under a chair or something where it could be found eventually. It was a fool of an idea but this felt like divine intervention. This was my chance to clean up my consciousness.

I stood back where this had all started, at the gates of the palazzo, and waited for a servant to come to pick me up. The velvet satchel was tied tightly to my waist and my nervous hand kept reaching for it, making sure it was still there.

The sun was up high, beating down my back and I was suddenly glad I had chosen my black coat for this event. I was already sweating buckets of nervousness figuratively, doing it literally would grant me no favors with the Conte nor the Silver Maiden.

“This way, signore,” a servant finally arrived and nodded to me. I followed him up the staircase and inside the foyer. The same mural greeted me in the sunlight and I couldn’t hold in my gasp this time. It was more magnificent in the daylight than I had hoped it would be.

“Bellissima,” I whispered, even though I had seen it before already. The servant nodded knowingly and I was sure his eyes would’ve sparked with mischief if he wasn’t so dedicated to his craft. “Si. It has that effect on many people. But please, follow me.”

The servant guided me into a smaller room rather than a grand ballroom. I watched the water get reflected off the open windows into the walls, creating beautiful waves, and I could imagine why this room was one of the family favorites in the entire palazzo. I was left alone again shortly after when the servant left to get who I presumed was the Conte, I leaped into action. I scanned the room quickly, finding out the layout and where to hide my stolen artifact.

There were a few tables scattered around the room and a small set of chairs and couches arranged in a neat set in the middle. Taking a peek at the door to ensure nobody was coming, I slipped the velvet satchel off my waist and fished out the necklace.

It truly was a work of art, all the diamonds shining and cut to perfection and the silver chain beautifully accenting the piece. It would’ve made the finest start to my true collection but I knew my sanity would not handle all of it. So I had to return it and then recalibrate my ideas. Work my way up to the big leagues.

A final longing glance at it, I slipped the necklace under some couch pillows and made my way towards the open doors to be as far away from the hot spot as possible. I started to count the slow ripples of waves in the canal in order to soothe myself and my errant heartbeat. It was done, the necklace returned and once I was out of this house, they could not say it was me that took it. A crime without a crime.

“Ah, signore Casanova? May I present, Isabella Barocci, daughter of Il Conte Barocci.” I turned around at the voice of the servant sounding clear into the room and all my air was sucked out of my lungs when I saw who stood with me inside the space.

She stood tall, her morning dress a pale green color that complimented her skin well. Her hair was intricately braided on top of her head and her topaz eyes were like a hawk, watching curiously at my next move. I was bewitched; seeing her beauty this close was like witnessing something unseen by those unworthy before.

“Signorina, it is with humble thank you that I stand here before you,” I bowed. It was maybe a slightly over-the-top move, but it felt correct. Just the air around her commanded people to bow to her. Signorina Barocci nodded before gesturing at the same couch I’d just hidden the necklace in and I swallowed before accepting.

We sat down, her in one of the luscious chairs, and waited in silence as the servant rolled up a desk between us with two plates. When I got a good look at the plate, my eyebrows rose to meet my curly brown hair. I chanced a look at her, bewildered by her choice of lunch offering.

“Pizza, signorina?”

“It’s unusual, I admit,” she smiled softly, looking down at her own plate. “But there is this place, tucked between an osteria and shoemaker shop that creates these wonderful creations. And sometimes I crave something simple and not what our cooks try to whip up and fail while doing it.” She snorted, quite loudly and very much opposite the poised and polished personality I had expected.

“Can you believe one of them tried to mix beef with chocolate one day? Horrid.” Her shiver of disgust made me laugh into my napkin. She truly was a contradiction to the persona she adopted outside of this palazzo. It created yet another layer into the mystery that was the Silver Maiden and I couldn’t wait to peel back another. I desired it much more than maybe I should’ve had.

“Pizza sounds lovely, signorina. Now, your father tells the story that you wish to commission some art?”

“Yes,” she took a dainty bite and I almost wished I could be the piece she placed on her tongue. It peeked out deliciously, wetting the plush lips before nodding. My eyes were honed in her mouth and I almost missed what she said next. I had to visibly shake my head a moment before focusing back on her.

“My friend, she is soon to be of age. I wish to commission a landscape for her to be gifted to her during the party, preferably of the Venetian coastline.”

“Ah.” Not a portrait then. Her father must’ve been mistaken she’d wanted something for her rooms then. Such a shame, she’d look amazing draped in nothing but pearls and white satin, lounging on a chaise like the ancients. A beautiful muse to be captured on canvas for all to worship.

“Signore?”

“Please, call me Francesco. I would be delighted to create such a piece for you but I understood from your father you were looking for something for yourself, perhaps?”

“Only if you call me Isabella. Well, I was but I would love to be painted with my favorite necklace on. Since that is missing…” She trailed off, something sparkling behind her eyes that I couldn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it made me nervous. Suddenly the wine that had been paired perfectly with the pizza, tasted like liquid ash in my mouth. My limbs felt heavy and my heart bounced like it was about to break free from my chest. What did she know?

She seemed unbothered by my silence, continuing her speech. “Since it’s missing, I can’t. So I’m choosing to turn my attention towards my friend's upcoming ball and the gift I need for her.”

Isabella took another bite of her pizza and chewed, letting me stew in silence. “So, Francesco, what do you say? Humor the Silver Maiden of Venice with her request?” Now I could see how the name annoyed yet inspired her and I couldn’t help but nod.

“Of course, signorina… Isabella.” I righted myself when she arched her brow. “How soon do you need it?”

“I must have it in a week, but ultimately I wish for it as fast as you can. I will pay handsomely of course.”

“Of course.” I nodded, sealing the deal. “Now, please tell me about your friend while we have lunch. I’d hate for this treat to go to waste.”

She was right after all. For food that was considered to be for peasants only, this round delicacy was a symphony of flavors bursting on my tongue and I wished to enjoy it to the fullest. I was also eager to chase the ashy taste out of my mouth as quickly as possible. We fell into a wonderful conversation as we finished our meal.

I felt lighter, not just because I’d returned the necklace, but because of her. The Maiden had completely bewitched me and I was glad of it.

After my lunch with Isabella (how did she allow a rake like myself to call her that, I wondered many times) and the assignment I had, I continued to sleep as little as possible. Every daylight hour was spent sketching and taking trips to and from various locations in Venice with canal boats to ensure I had captured the essence of the city. It cost me a pretty penny, but seeing the city from multiple angles gave me something I had been missing with my painting before. Direction and inspiration.

My nights were spent painting like a mad man, someone fueled by dark magic, to finish the piece I lovingly created for her.

Blues. Violets. Yellows. Reds. They all filled my canvas time and time again, at first appearing as abstract blobs but soon they began to take the shape of the canal, of the water floating through the city, of a boat with two lovers watching the magnificent sunset beyond the city. As more and more of the shapes formed, the more confident I felt in the work. This was truly my finest art yet.

Four days later I finally put down the smudgy palette and the brushes, admiring the paint glistening on the canvas. “It’s done,” I breathed out in awe. It was done and beautiful.

I fell down on the floor, not even caring about how the hardwood felt on my ass. I studied the painting, trying to find out anything wrong with it but as the church bell rang the hour twice in a row and I hadn’t moved from my spot on the floor, I accepted the giddy feeling in my belly.

Isabella’s painting was truly finished.

I jumped to my feet, scrambling out of the studio in search of the numerous boys scattered around the nearby square to hire one to deliver a message to the Palazzo. Selecting the least dirty one of the bunch I was able to track down, I pressed several coins into his hand and told him to run straight to her and tell her I would visit her tomorrow with the finished painting. Then, I turned to another group and paid another boy to deliver the same message. I was taking no chances with this one. After that, I rushed home to beg the cleaning lady living below me to pull me a bath and wash my shirt.

I was going to see the Silver Maiden again.

I wanted to gnaw on my fingernails as I waited on her to speak. Say anything about the painting I’d delivered this morning, too eager for my own good to spend time with her and get her approval.

Isabella had graciously accepted me as a guest and had brought me back to the room we had been in previously. I had propped the painting up on one of the tables and pulled the fabric around it off with a flourish, but she’d remained silent even with the dramatic reveal. Then she just remained seated, watching and analyzing the artwork with those hawk-sharp eyes of her.

I shuffled on the balls of my feet and suddenly she snapped her gaze to meet mine.

“It’s… It’s beautiful.” She breathed out, her eyes conveying the same emotion. “Thank you, Francesco, it’s everything I could have hoped for. I have half a heart to keep this to myself, but I know Paola would be devastated if she didn’t receive this.”

I broke into a wide grin at her praise, feeling the heat spread on my cheeks in a hue I could only dream to capture on canvas. She liked it! She really, really liked it! I must’ve let out some kind of voice of happiness because Isabella covered her mouth and giggled with me. I bowed down, almost folding in half in my gratitude.

“Thank you, signorina. Isabella. Thank you. I am beyond the moon with happiness you like the art I’ve created. I, uh, I did it with you as my muse,” I confessed, the heat reaching my ears. Not for the first time in my life I was grateful that my curls hid most of my ears from view, I was sure they were beet red and not from the paint I’d splattered all over in my frenzy.

She gifted me another smile before rising up from the couch and walking towards the side table. A small pouch sat there and when she picked it up, I could feel it was filled with coins. A sadness washed over me, this signaled the end of our brief time together. I knew my crush on her was foolhardy and would never amount to anything but having tangible proof of the end was anything but easy to swallow.

Still, I accepted the pouch with grace and bowed again. “It has been my honor,” I murmured when Isabella placed the pouch into my hands. I expected her to move away quickly, but to my surprise, she leaned in closer, her soft breath caressing the shell of my ear. I shivered involuntarily at the closeness and the intoxicating scent of her jasmine scent surrounding me.

“I should be the one to thank you,” she whispered, more and more gooseflesh appearing on my neck and arms. She was so close that if I were to twist a little, I could capture her lips in a kiss I desperately wanted. But her next words froze me down to my roots. “I missed that necklace when it was missing. Thank you for returning it to me.”

She knew. She knew it had been me, she knew I was the thief. Holy God, I was caught.

My eyes wide, still unable to move and my breath locked tight in my throat, I waited for the killing blow. Instead of that, Isabella surprised me once more. She rose to her toes and pressed a small kiss on my stubbly cheek, the softness of her lips branding me instantly. When she moved away, I could still feel them on my skin as a ghost I hoped would never vanish.

I turned to her, letting me see those luminous topaz eyes sparkle as she watched me gather my wits. Her eyes dipped slowly to my dry lips, almost as if contemplating if kissing me would lift me up or kill me, but she didn't move any further. Neither did I, afraid of breaking the spell that surrounded us.

“I’m…” My throat squeezed and I was unable to get the words out. Isabella’s smile grew, that secretive smile only women were able to achieve dancing on those lips that had just touched me.

“Your secret is safe with me, Francesco. Do not fret, I shall breathe no word of the loan you took for a little while.” I sagged, my limbs thawing from the ice they’d been cased in at that. I couldn’t believe my luck but I was not about to test it.

She turned on her heel satisfied, the pale dress sweeping over my feet and I watched her walk out of the room, taking my heart with her. At the door, Isabella turned back to look at me and winked, her topaz eyes sparkling with mischief I didn’t know she possessed.

“I like knowing the true identity of Il Ladro. La fanciulla d'argento e Il Ladro. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I do. Let us keep the good people of Venice talking, hmm?” With that, she sashayed out of the doorway and out of my life.

I ended up following her words, adopting her given title to me as something I carried around with me proudly. I also followed my own advice and started small, growing my talents and targets little by little. Eventually, the paranoia quieted down, and my anxiety over getting caught diminished into nothing.

I kept the people of Venice talking for two years straight, whispering about The Thief and how he managed to find his way to the trickiest places and escape into the wind without a trace. I dipped in and out of prominent homes and public locations, never taking much but leaving with something valuable with me always. I was the talk of the town and the spikiest thorn on the soldier's side.

For a while, it was fun but as the walls of Venice became too close to comfort for me, I decided to abandon the town where I had made my home. I left for Paris and when that became too risky too, I took the leap and moved again. I spend my years jumping from city to city, painting during the days and stealing from people during the night.

At some point I became notorious and stories of my exploits grew. I was said to be the devil himself, able to steal a voice of an opera singer right from their throat during a performance. I was said to have a grand villa of my own, with long hallways filled with stolen artwork and artifacts of ancient times. I was said to be ageless, holding a crown over my head as I sipped holy wine from goblets made by the gods themselves. I had a vault of a thousand faces and maps of the underworld strewn on desks made of marble.

The more people talked and whispered about me, the more the stories grew to be highly exaggerated but I enjoyed them immensely. I might’ve put a few rumors out there myself and watching them grow and sprout wings became a good pastime.

Once I moved out of Venice, I lost touch with Antonio but that was for the best. He was the innocent party in the dark and dangerous world I danced in now. We still wrote occasionally but those fizzled out eventually too, with him taking over the vineyards from his father and me with my constant moving around.

Last I’d heard of him, he was happy and his children inherited his eyelashes. I guess he finally plucked up the courage to speak to a woman and while I would’ve loved to witness that miracle, knowing about it was enough for me. I sent a landscape to him as a present before disappearing from his life completely. Unsurprisingly, the landscape was of a vineyard and I hope he loved it as much as I did when creating it just for him.

What about Isabella, you might ask.

I kept tabs on her for years. I watched her grow and take the world as her own from the shadows, using little birds as my sources. I never reached out again, maybe for fear of my heart burning from being too close to the sun or for the heartbreak of watching her fall in love and have a family of her own with someone who worshipped the ground she walked on.

Because that’s what happened. She met a Lord a year or so after I left the city and they fell madly in love. Soon enough the bells of Venice rang loudly for that the Silver Maiden was married and happy. No longer a Maiden, but a legend in her own right. She had everything and my heart soared for it.

Did I miss her, despite the short time we’d known one another? Yes.

Did she keep my secret until the very end? Considering no one ever found my true name, she did.

Did I paint a portrait of her to keep in my collection out of memory where she wore nothing but silk and that necklace? Well, you would have to find my villa and see it for yourself.

But beware of your next steps since breaking in and stealing from the Devil is not advisable after all.

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @miraclesabound @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @princessxkenobi @sixshooter665 @amneris21 @greeneyedblondie44 @beecastle

PPCU taglist @littlemisspascal @tintinn16 @evyiione @marvelousmermaid @mandoshoney @girlofchaos @veracruz-miller

#the thief #the thief fanfiction #historical fanfiction #history au #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #francesco casanova #writer wednesday #my writing #hopeamarsu

16 notes · View notes

captainkurosolaire · 3 years

Text

~ Mass Update ~

Mainly going into future plans and intents alongside ideas below cut.

Ton's of things I've in store this will prove difficult to vent it all out. But here we go... First off rehashing and appropriately learning to tag and organize things better on my blog. Each category will have their own corresponding content, I seek to bring or share. [Tales of Goldbrand] -- I intend this to carry a Compendium of all my writes soon that'll have everything neatly in-order including a glossary, so it'll have highlights of stories that even matter or the best stuff. I've written here for a very, long time, there's been many shifts. I want to make it more accessible. While coloring what matters for people who want to learn Captain or his Crew with less chapters. While also giving choice to find it all easily. This is essentially a step-above master-lists. I'll be doing that after the Saga I have going on, right now is done. [Captain] -- Will provide you strictly with Captain screenshots, gifs, photo-sets. This is still his blog despite the Crew thing's will sort of make this a scuffed Multi-Muse blog. I've few more things to edit and tag fix to get all his stuff though. [The Wild Crew] -- Afterwards this story is done Immortal Age Saga, It's something that I mainly wrote as a passion project within three days to get my warm-up process fixed. It's to allow me to get a feel for all his Crewmates and casts, in combat, in-general, to feel their presences. While also giving a bit of their backstories. At any point, I can go back and polish or tweak things in. They're NPC's but... not entirely. All will have their own 'Dreams' and their own 'Disapproval's' they have their own missions even. These things will factor eventually, they might set seeds, to betray or disagree with something, but that's all angst and more stories to be created, but overall, they'll probably always be Crew, eventually. -- I plan on making character-profile sheets of them and putting them in this Tab, it'll have their screenshots, their likes/dislikes. Some RP partners or people can also be shipped with them, but they'll all be monogamous and originally start off probably Pan. This allows them to figure out what they like on their own stories. I've always been someone who likes organic-flow. Although this one story contain all 16 characters or more, the rest will probably be shortened to a Squad of 4 and dispersed when on adventuring missions. Until I do a War Arc, that's my main goal to build too. [Roster] -- Will contain this Crew in just screen-sets dedicated to them, I'll probably randomly produce those. I've PC players among this Crew too. I may not be done either adding more, but this Crew is mainly built around Quality. Most pirate crew's mainly, have hundreds, thousands. Even Fleets. This Crew has personalities, monsters, people who are living life's that exist with piracy. He's an particular leader that had PC players the same way, he's had split-personality serial killers aboard, tribal chieftains, succubus, all sorts of various people once on a Crew. It's often an outcast style, pirates default are chaotic in nature, so this really isn't any different, it's a Fantasy version of it. There's humanization characters aboard too though, so this cast is really decked, everything and person is vital, they matter because they remind or covet something that others can draw upon. If ever played (Three Houses or Mass Effect / Dragon Age Origins) A lot of things like that are relatable too this structure and format. Which, Is something I want to be able to give when RPing. I want a genuine feel of this new world someone else's muse will be the main-character too. Depending on what's interacting everything they'll be scale appropriately to follow the genre they're in and environment even. [Aesthetics] -- Already explainable what you'll find here. [Asks] -- Same thing. [Prompts] -- Trivial things I was tagged too, I plan on compiling later. [Writing] -- Another alternatively to randomly go-down and it works right now. [Logs] -- Will have more individualistic master-lists and posts there, my poems from Sheik Sphere the Bard, etc.

Things of that nature, I'll probably add still. It's where a lot of my creative writing is summed. [Gems of Hydaelyn] -- My main #tag for other characters and artists, creationist. Lot of amazing people easily to find their zones or follow them optionally if you like. Ton's I intend to support and bolster, be a lot less unspoken. I'm never the type who's been strictly inclusive. But I'll do that when I've time to even explore the dash, I'm always still planning ahead with things and projects. [CKS] My original character-sheet it's outdated on something's but not too terrible. I'll give him polishing someday, I swear? [21+F-List] -- Just purely degenerate stuff of Captain. I'm a pirate blog. I will represent that with openness and furthermore. I'm never projecting you some false-image. I started off a smut-writer by stripping that, I no-longer represent the same aura and identity. But those are strictly his stuff and kinks, I'm effective in executing them but they're not all relatable to me OOC. This blog will always be 18+ containing crude or dark material sometimes, romantic things, this Captain is blunt, will literally put his cock on the table in conversations. Swearing and being censored would be too uncommon and displace most of him, but there's more about him then all this. [Other] -- I pay homage to a lot of characters, I originally am a Concept Designer. Which mean's I make characters and ideas like my addiction. Bad characters / villains or other little things I like to share in designs, I'll put there. Some villains might get little photo-sets, even if they died. Just cause I like their design, or maybe I'll give them an AU, where they won. When I've wrapped up things. [Collabs + Ships] -- Is a new project idea. This isn't going to be something limited too romantic only ships. It'll contain, platonic, romantic, friendships, rivals, frenemies, family, PC Crew, all ships. I am desperately working on improving my gif, screenshot, posing game so I can supply 'Screen Stories' this is not only a way to RP that's accessible with even people who are upon time-crunches from work, It gives visual-representation. To impactful stories shared with others and establish bonds. That are all-valid and impactful matter. Lot of people take a lot of their characters attributes into them and are them dialed up, I work with that and bit more, differently. I'm disconnected from my characters and they'll get hurt and injured and killed by me, that's my duty as their Author to give them conflicts and struggles. I'm their major antagonist, but that doesn't mean at-all, it's always SET that way. The characters I like to make have their own life, they live in this setting and are abide by it, they're often nothing, nobodies, and by the interacting with others, they slowly gradually building, more... Through emotional impacts, they alter, these are REAL people by all their beliefs. Each person they come in-contact with are legitimate and treated like that too. They've always impacted or given them insights to grow, or represent more. Otherwise it'd be criminally disrespectful if I allowed any emotional I felt OOC be the grudge to something IC. Captain in-particular is set on defying me. I cannot have that. ...But I can't stop him. He's met and encountered so many people and lived so many scenarios based on the actions of others, he's giving a chance right now to actually do things a lot further than impossible. The more people he meets and encounters, experiences, the more I lose. These stories are emotionally interactive where everything is a factor and adds to the dice, where the other people are the one who get to roll the dice for him, not me. That's something I want to color in. People range in emotions, they have their down's, ups, their own wholesome-grounding people, spending time with your favorite people, there's nothing more cherishing than that, being in your own comfort-zone or 'safe-space' these are all treasures that we live under, today. Contrary if what people assume of me, I'm not another 'blogger' that's came

before, who's wanting to force a harem, then constantly is bewildered when that falls to pieces cause of selfishness or a lack of communication, or the skeletons they have in their closets and beliefs they hid behind and swindled fooled everyone. I'm not looking to be popular or anything really, I just create stories and want to share in those, and I want to also boost others included, upward with me, especially those who make me. There's no ego in anything I do, this is purely love. I've never cared about being replicated or duplicated, I've had stalkers, I've gone through more then anyone would imagine, I've been used OOC and abused, just for my writing and cold-harshly told, i'd never amount to anything other then that or vice-versa. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Passion. That's all I got and am anymore. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Passion is the hardest thing to keep. It's something that can be stolen, quite effortlessly. Few words of discouragement, a bad negative representation, a lack of confidence, or small amount of time, there's many thing's that can put that flame out. Once you lose it. The difficulty to reattain is hundred-times harder than climbing any mountain for real. I've watched the greatest creators crumble from under the pressure, from beaten down by others. I watched many of them do it to themselves because they put a grand vision of needing validation of another and once lost, felt uncompelling to press onward. But passion also can be given BACK and drawn. It can be shown and encourage others, with a soft-triggering, that pushes them. That motivates, that constantly sticks to it. There are many that fuel me. If I ever quit, I let them down, I spit in the faces of people who're better than me in every-way. Or people who've came and given me their precious Time. That have given their character's or dedication to the abundant stories and community-driven things I've done. There's ONLY things you can do, create, give and provide. It cannot ever come to life without YOU. This is a fact. ...I swear, If you let your creativity soar, you'll be amazed by the heights you get. Constantly polish and learn and hone the best you, challenge yourself day after painstaking day, to draw better improvement on something, no matter how trivial or unfamiliar you are. You'll find a confidence only you can give yourself. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Future Plans --------------------------------------------------------------------- For me, I've got so much more stories to give and also explore, I might be taking up soon some other artists and more skilled people from community and hire them for some of my future writes, to up my game or cause something thing's can't be done in-game cause no background carries it. I also got a lot of-set up things and more angst stuff I want to practice, plus I'm adamantly on that grind to produce screen-sets with the intent's to some sort of improving daily. Additionally more people I'll be reaching out too soon for these collab's ideas and things. I look forward to shaking your hands, giving some hugs, show you my respect and admiration, then creating some enchanting stories and giving plots light. Feel free to reach out to me, I get scattered-brain but I'm working on getting better about it. Eventually will get to you though, my goals, if uninterested just say so when I poke, no bites, unless you kinky. Anyways, cheers hearties.

#ooc #update #future plans stuffz #ToG #Work on thinking of daily practice now

41 notes · View notes

fly-pow-bye · 5 years

Text

DuckTales 2017 - “The Ballad of Duke Baloney!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow

Written by: Colleen Evanson

Storyboarded by: Jean-Sebastien Duclos, Mike Morris, Sam King

Directed by: Jason Zurek

Not full of balogna.

Here’s an interesting way to start this "ballad": begin with a scene from the season finale that didn't really have a conclusion. I just saw as a good way to include a beloved villain in a montage filled with cameos from previous episodes. There was clearly more to this story, but it wasn't important compared to the whole "sorceress just took over the entire town" plot.

In particular, Glomgold’s shadow ends up throwing him into the ocean. As he shouts “curse you, me”, he ends up nearly drowning, only to be saved by some fishers.

Specifically, he wakes up to find himself caught in a net. Glomgold reacts as well as one would expect, telling these fishermen to get their hands off of him. Turns out, that's not the right word to say.

Lady: Whoa, fisherperson?

The "gag" with her is that she wants everything to be more socially conscious, though I'm not sure if this is supposed to be one. Their names, from left to right, are Fisher and Mann, something Fisher point out almost immediately to defend this stranger's wrong word. Glomgold isn't having it, and asks them if they knows who he is. They don't, as they're simple fisherpeople. He tries to exclaim in a dramatic way, until he realizes...

...even he doesn’t know. Yes, this episode starts with that cliche where someone loses all of his memories after a bump in the head, or a bunch of water going through it in this case. However, they use this as an excuse.

After the theme song, we cut to a report showing what exactly happened between Glomgold’s disappearance and now. A new CEO just barged into Glomgold’s absence, as she literally pushes away his silhouette to reveal herself. Her name is Zan Owlson. I swear, I misheard it as Van Owlsing, and that still made sense. Glomgold is practically a vampire compared to her.

Even the newsreporter decides to tell the viewers that this new CEO is not insane. We get a small bio of her past: she was the top of her class, and she ran a charity called Change for Chicks! No, Johnny Bravo, she means literal chicks. Unlike her predecessor, she cuts a lot of funding dedicated to revenge and sharks. Even moreso unlike her predecessor, she is completely open to make deals with long-time rival company McDuck Enterprises, as we see her shake hands with its CEO.

In other words, she’s exactly the opposite of Glomgold in every way, as enhanced by the news cutting to a Simpsons-esque file photo gag of him eating shrimp in an unflattering manner at a charity auction. Maybe the one from The Golden Lagoon from Agony Plains?

It’s also shown by the old Glomgold logo being replaced by a treasure chest filled with a bunch of people. She doesn’t even include herself in this, definitely not something Glomgold would do.

Zan Owlson: At Glomgold Industries, our community is the greatest treasure of all.

She even makes an outright reference to the Glomgold motto that Glomgold just made up to get those henchmen he hired to like him in Woo-oo. What happened to those guys?

We cut from the newsreport, which we barely get back to, to a fisherperson's wharf, where Louie and Webby are planning on going fishing. While it’s a day in the limelight episode for Glomgold, that doesn’t mean we don’t get to see the nephews and honorary niece.

Webby is all about hunting fish in a more barbaric way with a stick, while Louie just wants to fish with a fishing rod. Louie is more of the straight man here, though they seem to swap back and forth between scenes depending on one's viewpoint. They do realize that they forgot one thing that would help them immensely, and there happens to be someone with a South African accent.

While his beard was dyed by several unfortunate squid ink-related accidents and his accent has changed, it’s clearly the duck that attempted to kill them and their uncle several times over. They react very similarly to Bart and Lisa Simpson reacting to Sideshow Bob, but this bearded guy has no idea who this Glomgold guy is.

He rechristened himself “Duke Baloney”, just like the humble sandwich meat, in his words. This does not go well with Louie, who already makes the obvious quip about his name. Webby has to take him aside to talk about this.

Webby and Louie get into their conflict, though for Webby, it's a little less defined and more just "she doesn't agree with Louie's idea". Louie thinks this is all just an act, and he even says he should know because it takes a con artist to know one. Webby, on the other hand, thinks that he really is suffering from this and needs to go back to his old self. Either that, or maybe this is Glomgold turning into a good person like a reverse werewolf, her reasoning changes throughout the episode.

They do humor the idea that maybe this guy is just a different person altogether, but then he gets caught in his own rope trap.

Duke Baloney: Curse you, rope!

Louie & Webby: It’s him.

This is a slight hint that this will probably not be permanent. That would be an odd way to write off a huge arch-nemesis!

Glomgold invites them over to what I now realize is the closest TV-Y7-FV equivalent to a bar, offering them a bucket of fish heads, to Louie's disapproval. I’m sure real ducks eat a lot worse than that.

Webby tries to show off a Missing poster with Glomgold on it that also seems to function as a wanted poster due to tax evasion! Oh, how unrealistic, everyone knows rich people always get away with that. Unfortunately, all this gets is scorn from Baloney’s fellow crewmates for even suggesting he’s related to that tyrant. This is a "bully-free zone" according to that one fisherperson, after all. That's pretty much it for the socially conscious aspect of her character.

Even Louie joins in on this chants along with everyone else. Sure, he was totally against the guy, but the boy just wants his free Pep! However, Webby notices the money happens to have a very fancy money clip. They decide to stay back to investigate this from afar.

A general theme that pops up in this episode is that Duke Baloney may have amnesia, but his inner Glomgold continues to show more and more. This especially comes in once we see a McDuck Enterprise company get involved. While this doesn't entirely revive his memory, he does get a sudden dislike for "that boat."

This is especially shown with disagreements with his fellow crewmembers. The crewmembers are okay with being #2, However, considering #1 is owned the richest duck in the world, I wouldn't blame them for not wanting to fight a battle they can't win. Duke Baloney, on the other hand, doesn't see that as impossible.

One clever bit is that he does the cliche “look at me, I’m a pretty lady and not a trap” gag, and realizes he could get more fish if he did something for the ladies, too. He never does realize that, if this plan did work, he would get some really messy fish guts. All in all, aside from the dynamite, he just seems like this misunderstood guy who’s down on his luck.

At least, that's what Webby thinks. Louie accuses her of being naive about this, as that’s what she assumed when she was a humble deliveryman and a humble pastry chef. Yeah, Louie, you invited him to a party, if I remember correctly.

While looking at Baloney trying to convince his fellow co-fisherpeople to do a plan that is oddly similar to that Scottish guy. Webby & Louie, continuing to spy on this kind fellow to confirm their different suspicions. Louie says that he's going to be thrown in a pit full of sharks with bombs strapped on to them. Webby says that's ridiculous...

...and we immediately cut to Duke Baloney's plan to get fish, which just happened to get to the part involving sharks with bombs strapped onto them. They don't have womp womp music, they're not that blatant most of the time.

This whole scene is funny, though; it's just like that scene from The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks where Glomgold details his plan with similar drawing. Speaking of plots that weren't resolved in the episode that could use a continuation...that one. Louie and Webby still can't see what any of this could prove, so Webby has an idea that Louie is not a big fan of: record investigation!

Granted, Louie getting hit in the face probably didn't help in any way. I like how the next scene shows Louie walking into Webby’s investigation room. See, anything can have a consequence, even slight gags like that one.

She gets out her board, with a drawing of the moneyclip, a picture of Glomgold, and a picture of Duke Baloney, and...nothing else. She couldn't find anything. Not only is there no record of Duke Baloney, there’s no record of Flintheart Glomgold before he came to America.

In order to find more information and possibly either reveal Glomgold's evil plan or bring Glomgold back to normal, they decide to do a plan involving a certain rich duck. If one can ask why would they want to bring Glomgold back to his former self to terrorize the McDucks, just wait.

Meanwhile, in Duke Baloney’s dreams, we see a bizarre sequence full of odd imagery. Some of it is obviously referencing what will happen in the future, some of which possibly not even in this episode. One of the big ones that isn’t addressed again is that shot on the bottom left. Everyone knows Glomgold is evil, but…is there a more spiritual reason we don’t know about?

That’s not the only unanswered question, either. The shortest description I could say is that he constantly gets a message from what looks like his younger self that the boiler room is out, who slowly turns into Zan Owlson. No connection is made to how Glomgold would be familiar enough with the new CEO to have her appear in his dreams, since all of this happened after he got amnesia.

While most of this dream sequence's symbolism is subtle, there is one line that just whacks you right in the head.

Duke Baloney: This GOLD! It’s GLOOMING onto me!

Yeah, that’s pretty forced. It's at the end of the dream sequence, they may have felt that they needed something blatant at the end to make him wake up.

He wakes up, and his final reaction to all of this? To essentially tell himself to "never mind all that." Hey, it’s not like those dreams mean anything, anyway!

While Duke Baloney is getting welcomed into the family of fisherpeople and telling himself that nothing can possibly ruin this day, in comes Scrooge McDuck. He was invited by Webby and Louie the to talk it out to see what's really going on.

We don't get to hear their conversations, and neither do Louie and Webby, so Webby tries to read their lips. Of course, she does it in a way that makes it seem like she was right all along, even making them say "oh, that Webby was correct all along, huh? I wish I was his housekeeper's granddaughter!" However, while she may be able to read lips, the next move shocks both her and Louie. They look like they're going to fight...

...and then they hug it out. After all the time of Webby seemingly succeeding at everything she does throughout Season 1, it’s a little refreshing to see her actually be wrong for a change. Nobody’s perfect...I learned that with the last episode. Scrooge tells them he's far happier this way, and they should just let him be Duke Baloney.

Webby and Louie accept this, and decide to go back to their initial plan of fishing. However, a storm is brewing.

Duke Baloney, who somehow has that missing/wanted poster, decides that even if he was this Glomgold fellow, he wants his life at the sea. He throws the paper, but it hits him right in the face, symbolically proving that any kind of face turn with him is ultimately futile.

The storm starts happening, and Baloney sees Webby and Louie in trouble. Being the hero that he is now, he tries to. However, he gets hit by, and ends up nearly drowning in the same way he did in the beginning of the episode.

We get another scene from Baloney’s subconscious, but this time we get an outright memory rather than symbolism. In particular: this one is right from one of Baloney’s repressed memories. I decided that outright spoiling it wouldn’t add anything to the review, but the best hint I could give is that I really do mean Baloney’s repressed memories. That shot from the dream I had on the top right is a pretty good hint of foreshadowing this, too.

I will say this: the first thing I did after watching this episode was look up whether or not any of this had any basis in the original comics. The simple answer is not really. While Scrooge first meets Glomgold in South Africa, Glomgold was already grown-up and clearly evil from day one. This flashback adds another dimension to that entirely.

There is one important-to-the-plot takeaway from this, a literal one, I might add, but I’ll talk about it later.

Everyone’s cheering him on to save the kids, and it appears that maybe, just maybe...no, of course not. What did you think was going to happen? No, he made his decision. He says it in such an epic way, that I decided to make this a GIF. A really small GIF to fit Tumblr's restrictions, but I had to keep that animation as smooth as it was.

Duke, er, Flintheart Glomgold: (in his usual Scottish accent) Because I'm Flintheart Glomgold...and I always will be! Ha ha ha ha ha!

I know I implied that I didn't want to spoil, but this scene is just so amazing. It's a lot smoother, they needed to animate it on the ones. It's an impressive sight seeing him laugh with all that lightning behind him.

I did give him a little bit of a That seems to work in his favor, as he happened to have his a spare grey beard in this pocket this whole time. It makes more sense when you watch the episode, trust me.

We somehow fade to him being surrounded by his crewmembers and their friends under very calm weather. This is the one scene transition that doesn't really add up to me. Was the storm in his head the whole time? These former crewmembers only accuse Glomgold of stealing from children rather than attempted murder, which seems to go with that theory.

One thing's for sure: Duke Baloney has left the building, and now it’s Glomgold’s time forever. He starts a Glomgold chant that even he expects no one will join in, as he dives into the water.

This chant continues with him going into his formerly owned organization, where Scrooge was talking with Zan Owlson about how using nickels would save more money than dimes.

Scrooge and Glomgold making a big deal, mostly due to Glomgold still having an all-important money clip, referenced. Yeah, Scrooge treats it like it’s this big deal, suggesting there’s something more to it than just gold. Honestly, considering the Number One Dime twist in The Shadow war, it could be anything at this point.

Also, I am so glad they apparently didn’t decide to push the reset button to prevent any potential plots with Van Owlson, since she barely did anything in this episode other than show her apparent benevolence. Quite a few plot points to this new story arc...at least, I hope it’s a new story arc. I have no reason to believe it’s not.

Oh yeah, and no Dewey in the episode for the first time ever. Not even a mention. How weird!

How does it stack up?

Despite only having an A plot, it is indeed an A plot this time. I can’t wait to see what happens next with this future plot this time. There's some very interesting twists to the classic Glomgold character, and I’d say it could pay off in the future. No bologna here, that’s for sure.

Next, America may not be getting their cartoon, but they will be getting their DuckTales 2017 appearance!

← The Depths of Cousin Fethry! 🦆 The Town Where Everyone Was Nice! →

#fpb dt 2017 #ducktales 2017 #fpb reviews #ducktales #disney

5 notes · View notes